


Pass By

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8194840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Half the time, Aramis has no idea what Elodie thinks of him. (post-series)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr with the prompt, "Porthos has ask Aramis to look after Elodie while he is away, one evening they are talking and Aramis lets slip about his and Porthos relationship and Elodie in her own way letting Aramis know that she already know and is ok with it."

Most of Aramis’ visits with Elodie have been focused on Marie. She’s growing, already starting to baby-babble. Aramis finds it endlessly endearing, playing with her toes and letting her kick against his palms when he tickles her. She’s a quiet baby – Aramis knows this much. She hardly cried at all when she was born and so rarely fusses. She’s strong, Aramis thinks, healthy and sweet – all he can hope for her, and all he can hope for Elodie and Porthos. They deserve this, more than anything. 

He smiles a little, warm and gentle, as Marie wriggles a little in her bed, trying to roll over onto her stomach. She kicks hard at Aramis’ hand when he tickles the bottom of her foot. 

Elodie comes in, carrying the pot to set in the fireplace, to boil water for the soup. Aramis rises to help her but she waves him away with a jerk of her chin, moving diligently and efficiently. She kneels before the fireplace and gets to work. 

When she straightens up again, dusting her hands free from soot from the hearth, she turns towards Aramis. She gives him a long, thoughtful look – something she often does, when Aramis comes to visit. It doesn’t unsettle Aramis, really, but rather just makes him aware of his own place here – how he’s visited this home far more often than Porthos has managed to, his absence clearly felt. That is, after all, why he’s here. He could never deny a request to Porthos. Not that he would deny him this even if Porthos didn’t have such power over him.

Elodie continues to study him and say, “You know, you don’t have to keep coming over like this if you’re busy.” 

It sounds at once like appeasement but also dismissal. Not for the first time, Aramis frets over being an intruder and unwelcomed. ( _I know she can take care of herself,_ Porthos told him the night before he left for the war again, _But it’d help to know you’re checking in on them…_ ) 

“I know that,” Aramis says, chipper as always – smiling lightly. “But I did promise your husband.” 

Both he and Porthos know what Elodie is capable of, that she can house her daughter better than anyone else. If anything, Aramis is a bother – eating food that she could store away for another meal. Aramis has taken to leaving money in little hiding places, since Elodie refuses to take some of Aramis’ salary outright. He has enough to spare – his role as the Minister is remarkably generous in comparison to a musketeer’s pension. 

“You might as well make yourself useful and help me cut potatoes,” Elodie decides, turning back towards the kitchen. “Let my daughter sleep in peace and come here.” 

Aramis casts a longing look towards Marie, who is indeed looking rather sleepy – droopy-eyed and slow to respond, all even-breathing. He smoothes his hand over her brow, brushing back the soft wisps of almost-hair from her forehead before indeed trailing after Elodie. 

She shoves a dulled knife into his hand and gestures towards peeled potatoes. Aramis gets to work cutting them as Elodie instructs as she gets to work with the carrots. They don’t speak, quickly falling into a groove. Aramis soon enough starts to hum, only half aware, but Elodie doesn’t stop him.

It’s been an interesting growth between the two of them. Aramis is quite sure that Elodie wasn’t his biggest fan at the start, which of course only means he’s been working nonstop to get her to like him. He’s either succeeded or she’s relented for Porthos’ sake. Still, he likes to think he has the charm enough to win her over. Marie, at least, seems to like him just as well as anyone else. He’s been trying to learn to knit, if only so he could make her a new hat once the winter months come in. It’s been a slow process. 

“Has there been news from the front?” Aramis asks, when he really means to ask, how is Porthos? 

Elodie breathes out and shrugs. “You’d know better than me, Minister.” 

Aramis chuckles, a dry and tired laugh. He shakes his head, slicing the knife through the potato under his hand. “I suppose so.”

“Porthos is well,” Elodie adds, benevolent. Aramis feels his shoulders ease. She really is too good at telling what he isn’t asking. She adds, “He asked after you. I told him you’re always here eating my food.”

Aramis laughs again. “I hope you also told him that I always offer to pay you back and you always refuse me.” 

Elodie gives him a dry little smile, and Aramis likes to think it means she’s amused with him and not just tolerating him. 

“He says that you appreciate a chance to fuss,” she says rather than answers. 

Aramis laughs, feels his cheeks warm. He turns back to the potato and finishes cutting it, pushing it over into the small pile accumulating. 

“Why do you come here?” Elodie asks. It doesn’t sound accusing, only curious.

Aramis laughs out, a little breathless. “I promised your husband.” 

“He knows I can take care of myself,” Elodie answers. “I don’t mind the company. But if it was disrupting your work or taking you away from the palace for too long, he’d be mortified.” 

Aramis smiles, a small and secretive thing, his heart warming and overfull with thoughts of Porthos. Of course he’d worry about that. He sets down the knife, laughing a little and shaking his head. 

“I promised him,” Aramis says again, quiet and secured. He’d do anything for Porthos, without question – this is the least he can do to make sure Porthos’ mind can be at ease, so he can fight and come home and be here again, with his family, his daughter. With him. 

“It matters that much to you?” Elodie asks. 

Aramis hums out, quiet. “I would do anything for him.”

The words leave him far too wistful, too fond and heavy – he catches it after it’s too late. He doesn’t let it show on his face, just lets his shoulders tense the slightest bit. He’s getting careless in his longing, in how much he misses Porthos – it’s been months since he saw him. He’s forgetting himself. He needs to keep his voice steady, needs to keep himself composed. He and Porthos are friends. Only friends. That’s what he needs to keep telling himself. 

He goes back to chopping, not looking at Elodie. He clears his throat. “He’s my best friend. I can hardly refuse a request as simple as looking after the two lovely women in his life.” 

He pauses in his chopping when it becomes clear that Elodie is studying him again instead of cutting up carrots. He pauses, potato in hand, and casts her a winning smile. Her expression doesn’t change.

“Ah…” Aramis begins, trailing off, his smile faltering. “Is there something on your mind?” 

Elodie gives him a steady look and then turns to grab a bowl, sweeping the chopped carrots and potatoes into it and cradling it in her arms. She fixes a steady, even-gazed look on Aramis. He is not above squirming but he does resist, trying to look casual. 

Calmly, Elodie says, “I suppose we all do what we can for someone we’re in love with.”

And with that she turns, carrying the bowl into the other room to pour the ingredients into the pot. Aramis stands there, shell-shocked. His entire body turns cold, iced over. He stands there stupidly and doesn’t move, even once Elodie has returned and casts a long look in his direction.

This, at least, is what gets her expression to soften. She actually looks amused rather than accommodating. She lifts her eyebrows and waits until Aramis snaps out of before she says, “He told me the day he asked me to marry him.” 

“Wh—” Aramis starts, suddenly everything snapping into focus. 

“I don’t mind,” Elodie answers, dragging the last stray pieces of vegetable off the table and into her bowl. “If you leave your mouth open like that, flies will get in.”

Aramis’ mouth is not hanging open but the turn of phrase is enough to make him blink a few times and relax his expression. 

“I… you could have said something before,” Aramis finally admits, his heart pounding at the admission. 

Elodie smiles and shrugs.


End file.
